Memories of Yesterday
by HoneyBeeWatson
Summary: Detective Inspector Lestrade thinks he's seen it all... until Mycroft Holmes approaches him with an impossible case. Warning: Don't read this with the lights off.
1. Let's Begin

The burn of the alcohol going down his throat was nothing. The constant, annoying emails from his boss demanding better results were typical, boring even. The one thing Greg Lestrade could not handle was complete and utter idiocy.

Lestrade had been told once or twice that his anger issues were a problem; but the way he saw it, the thicker the skull the louder he needed to be.

"Well, tell him to call service then if he doesn't know how to change his own bloody tire!" He hung up on the patrolman and slammed the empty shot glass on the bar. "_Buggers_." What officer couldn't change his own flat? The incompetence these days…

Lestrade held up a finger for a refill and turned to watch the television in the corner. Two more people dead from a mall shooting that morning. He had long given up hope on a violence-free world but it still saddened him to see more of it. He looked away in frustration.

The bartender, Levi, swapped his glass with a full one. He was well accustomed to Lestrade's presence and therefore, his preferences of drink depending on his mood. Greg gave a nod to the man for switching his drink to vodka after the angry phone call.

Not even tipsy yet, Lestrade decided to catch up on the messages building up on his phone.

_**Cheating ex**__: "I miss you"._

Nope. Been there, done that.

_**Sherlock**__: "Brain. Hospital. 1 pm"._

Being used to odd requests from the brilliant detective, Greg immediately set up a virtual reminder to call Molly for a cadaver.

He continued down the list, alcohol in hand, until both email and text message inboxes were empty. Lestrade congratulated himself by ordering another drink, even though the room was already spinning. He didn't even notice the man with the umbrella sitting next to him until he heard a too-calm voice say, "Detective Inspector or Off-Duty Alcoholic?"

"What's it to you?" Greg grumbled without looking at him.

"Nice to officially meet your aquaintence." The man said with no emotion whatsoever. "I am Mycroft Holmes, and you're sitting in my bar. I have a case for you, Inspector Lestrade."


	2. Intervention

Lestrade nearly choked on his drink. "What?"

Mycroft Holmes' face was that of stone. "Which part confuses you?"

The inspector stalled for a moment before composing himself. Greg wasn't sure which part to react to first: the fact that he was finally meeting Sherlock's brother or that Sherlock's brother owned his favourite pub, The Diogenes. Lestrade was used to not being able go anywhere without tabs being kept on him, but this was on a whole other level.

"I think you're the one that's confused, mate." Lestrade replied drunkenly. "I asked what you want." Or maybe he hadn't. Lestrade didn't care.

Mycroft's head titled ever so slightly upwards, before pulling out a file that seemed to appear out of nowhere. Unlike other files, though, this one looked worn by time and as thick as a dictionary. Greg scoffed at it before putting his hand up for more drinks. "From the looks of it, that case belongs in a museum." He stated.

"Many others have failed, yes." Mycroft retorted. "However, I've only recently been given this case and after some review it seems like you could be of benefit to me. Name your price."

Levi was ignoring his requests for a refill; a sign Lestrade knew all too well as that's enough for you. He reached for his coat and began preparing to leave. "I'm not one to be bought. I work for the people. Scotland Yard. Heard of it?"

"I can't put this through normal systems." Mycroft answered without blinking.

"Why the bloody hell not?" Lestrade was getting really annoyed. He took a long, investigative look at the man next to him. The inspector could see the resemblance between Mycroft and his brother easily. Mycroft seemed to be a bit on the heavier side, though, and with a sharper hairstyle. It was obvious just by glancing at him, and the way he held himself, that Mycroft was an all-business type. Clean suit, professional demeanor, and voice of ice. Despite being more of a fire type himself, Lestrade wasn't put off by this man with the umbrella. Greg actually thought he might be att-

Mycroft interrupted his observations. "That's classified. Besides, I can't risk it getting lost to someone less… qualified."

"I hear you on that one." Lestrade said with a sigh as he recalled the idiot patrolmen from before.

"If it makes you feel better," Mycroft continued, "I have a letter from the queen herself asking for your assistance. This is not an unlawful operation." He opened the file and attempted to hand Lestrade a sealed envelope. Immediately recognizing the seal and paper, Greg put a hand up to the note. No need, I believe you.

"Right." Lestrade made up his mind. "Let's meet in better circumstances. Coffee tomorrow? Seven. We can discuss the case then." He stood and pushed himself away from the bar, stumbling slightly.

"Agreed. Although, you should know, I will be joining you on this case. Every step of the way." Mycroft carried a hint of warning in his tone. Why the lack of trust?

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Whatever you like," the inspector said before taking his leave.

This was going to be interesting.


	3. Breakfast Briefing

Detective Inspector Lestrade woke up with the killer of all headaches. He groggily pulled himself from the bed and silenced his blaring alarm. Five in the morning was an ungodly hour to awaken but Lestrade held a strict routine: freshen up, catch up, fill up. To put it in simpler terms: shower, emails, coffee. _Coffee is most important_, the inspector often joked to himself.

Lestrade did not take his job lightly. Greg might have irresponsible off-duty habits, but he made up for it by pushing himself even harder while on duty. Hence, the tortuous routine beginning at _five in the_ _bloody_ _morning_.

A quick shower and a dose of painkillers later, Lestrade began the tedious task of reading and replying to the various messages he had received throughout the night; which in total, mind you, came to about forty-two.

First was an email from Molly. She had sent forms requiring the inspector's signature to allow his consultant to have access to the cadaver. _Thank God for e-signatures, _Lestrade thought as he quickly signed and sent the forms back to Molly. Now Sherlock would stay off his case about the brain. One down, forty-one to go.

Thinking of Sherlock reminded Lestrade of the encounter with his brother. He checked the time. 6:24 am. Plenty of time. Lestrade grabbed his coat and wallet before leaving his apartment behind for the nearest breakfast eatery. They had never agreed on an exact place, but Lestrade wanted to test how close these people were watching him. He chose Raphael's Place, a favourite of his not only because of the proximity to his home but because of their savoury, never-burned bacon.

Imagine his surprise when he walked into Mycroft sitting in his favourite booth in the corner of the room with an untouched fry-up awaiting his arrival. Lestrade pulled his jacket tighter, not letting any surprise show on his face. Taking his seat, Lestrade mumbled, "How many on me?"

Knowing he meant eyes, Mycroft folded his newspaper he had been pretending to read, "Three. Two extra on the weekends."

Lestrade nodded. "Bit obsessive, don't you think?" It was getting harder to not let the bubbling anger escape him. Hot coffee was placed in front of Lestrade by the waiter which did little to calm his nerves. Being watched was never a comfortable feeling, especially for a detective.

"I do hope you understand," Mycroft began, "my job requires it. I cannot afford to be caught off-guard."

A sudden thought piqued Lestrade's curiosity. "How many has Sherlock got?"

For a split second, Lestrade thought he saw the stone-cold mask slip from Mycroft's face. He almost resembled, for just a moment, a worried big brother. Mycroft sighed, "You don't want to know."

Greg laughed, clapping his hands together. "Brilliant."

Mycroft took a sip of tea. "Shall we begin?"

The next hour was that of food and mystery. The case involved a very small castle with a very large history. Built in the 1400's, a large and wealthy family, the Claxons, had become quite small and poor over time. The castle owner, George, was getting on in years. After the death of his wife he had recently taken another, Macy, despite the disappointment of his two adult children, Lucy and Miguel. Due to difficult financial times, George had been forced to rent out rooms in the house. Most of the tenants, however, did not leave unscathed. If they escaped with their life, they left with stories of the paranormal with the injuries to prove it. This was especially true for adult females. Investigators of every kind had inspected the home, but nothing to resolve the mystery had been found. George had been questioned several times and even detained, but the activity continued. He was released and the castle became infamous - drawing in more customers wanting to witness the impossible, for whatever reason. No renter stayed more than a few days, though.

"While there are multiple haunted locations across the world to draw in revenue, " Mycroft explained, "they don't often result in death." He put forward a photo of a skinny-looking man. "This is Tyler Coleman. He died last week in the castle."

"Okay, so what am I supposed to do about it?" Lestrade grumbled. Throughout his entire career, there had been many seemingly paranormal events occur. They proved later to be human. "You honestly can't believe in ghosts."

"Of course not, " Mycroft replied, he almost sounded offended. "However, I have been put in charge of closing this case for good."

"And you need me because?"

"Your skill-sets would be useful, but understand that they are not required. Asking for your assistance is more for your interests than mine. The publicity of solving the unsolvable would not only gain respect from your boss and peers but remind everyone in London that they can feel safer with you in Scotland Yard - securing your job and perhaps even gaining a promotion." Mycroft was good at getting what he wanted. He seemed to be an expert at reading people and their desires. Mycroft was an even smoother conversationalist than Sherlock. Sherlock..

"Why haven't you put your brother up to this?" Lestrade asked.

Mycroft squirmed slightly. Lestrade laughed loudly. "He put _you_ up to this!"

"Not exactly. I did offer him the case first, but after some words.."

"Let me guess, he got tired of being your fetch-dog and challenged you to do this one on your own. No wonder you're actually participating in this one. You Holmes' can't say no to a game can you?"

Mycroft seemed to be getting frustrated. His cheeks were the slightest of pinks. "Need I remind you that this is an actual case - one that has produced a casualty already."

"Need I remind you," Lestrade said whilst still laughing, "that I'll do anything to get on that bugger's nerves. I bet he's waiting for you to give up and come crawling back to him."

"Quite." Mycroft mumbled.

"Right, let's get the front page on this one. When do we leave?" Lestrade was excited? He couldn't wait to rub this one in. Maybe Sherlock would even respect him a bit more afterwards.

Mycroft was confused. "This afternoon. I'll have a car waiting for you at three."

Les trade grabbed the last bits of bacon and crumpets from the plate. "I prefer to drive, just text me the address."

Mycroft nodded. Lestrade didn't notice until he stood to leave that Mycroft's hand was tight around his umbrella. What was Mycroft so nervous about? This case was going to be open-and-shut. Right?


	4. Meeting the Claxons

The castle was definitely small and definitely old. It was obvious in the way that the white and gray stones had collected years of vines and moss. The grass on the lonely acre was quite overgrown in parts and yet despite the lack of proper upkeep the historical hotel had become famous. Or rather, infamous.

Mycroft led the way down the long stretch of driveway to a decent parking area. A small, sparkling lake was in view.

"Any thoughts?" Mycroft interrupted.

"It has quite a bit of potential - it could be a hell of a place with some care, yeah?" Lestrade wondered.

"I meant, any useful thoughts pertaining to the case?" Mycroft snapped sarcastically.

Lestrade scoffed. "Let me translate; the property owners are not focusing on keeping up with the hotel. So what are they focused on? Think about it."

"Observation noted. Let's continue." Mycroft started forward along with his umbrella, using it almost as a sort of walking cane. Lestrade followed, feeling the tension in the air. Mycroft's ego seemed too large to offer an apology.

The door was large and ancient, a wooden piece with a claxon as a knocker instead of a lion's head. There was an original and strong sense of pride in which this place had been built - what happened for the family to lose it?

A thin but very built man with white hair opened the door with an eerie creak. Mycroft took on an enthusiastic and kind tone to introduce them. Lestrade was simultaneously surprised and impressed at the suddenness of it. "Lovely to meet your acquaintance in person, you must be George Claxon. Mycroft Holmes, and this is my partner, Detective Inspector Lestrade." Mycroft held out his hand with a smile and Lestrade nodded a greeting.

George didn't smile back as he looked them over, but his voice was polite. "You're here for the investigation?" He asked.

"Correct. May we come in?" Mycroft answered.

"Of course, of course. Apologies." The man shuffled backwards quickly and let them pass. The interior was decorated with a rustic and yet homely flair. Plants and ceramic artworks brandished every corner of the room, and hand-woven carpets lined the wooden floors. Natural light was allowed to flood into the large, open spaces through the elegant windows and nonetheless it all seemed to be a bit too... dark.

George offered to take their coats but both of them declined. He then led the way to a dining area that was full of nicely decorated wooden round tables. Lestrade made sure to peak carefully into every room they passed, looking for any signs of violence. A quick glance at Mycroft proved him to be doing the same, although he remained as emotionless as ever.

In the dining area stood two persons; a much younger, more lean version of George and an older blonde woman who was not only wearing quite a bit of makeup, but had a short temper. Miguel and Macy, no doubt. The two were avidly arguing upon Lestrade and Mycroft's entrance.

"I won't allow it, not on my property." The woman said viciously.

"_Your _property?" Miguel argued back. "This is more my property than yours, you have no right to tell me what I can or can't do."

"I-" Macy began before George coughed to get their attention. She was absolutely red in the face.

"The detectives are here, " George said tiredly. He must be used to this animosity. Miguel rolled his eyes at them without a welcome and leaned back against a countertop. Macy composed herself quickly and offered an apology and some tea. They declined.

"I understand you've been dealing with some hardships, " Mycroft began. Lestrade watched their reactions carefully. The family all stood far apart from the other; and a mix of exhaustion and frustration overcame them all. Something was definitely broken here.

"Yes," Macy answered. "and my husband is not guilty for any of that which he's been accused, I assure you." She stole a poisonous glance at Miguel, who ignored her with ease.

"Miguel," Lestrade entered, "What's your take on the recent events happening on your family's property?" Something about him stood out to the detective and Lestrade wanted to get to the bottom of it. The only way to do this was to make an impression that he was on Miguel's side of things.

The young man, maybe twenty-three, crossed his arms. "Look, I don't know what's happening and I don't really care. I just need it to end, now." He looked at his watch. "I have to go."

Miguel took long, angry strides to make a swift exit. The front door slammed behind him. After some silence, Macy spoke up. "I apologize for him, he's always been a bit of trouble from what I understand. Tea?" She offered again. Mycroft and Lestrade looked at each other in unison, the silent thought was clear. This was going to be quite a case.

They accepted the tea and sat with George and Macy for small conversation. There were no helpful clues to be learned from the couple, as they were certain their hotel was haunted. Apparently shadows were seen consistently around the building and loud, unexplainable noises often occurred throughout the night. Lestrade tried his best not to show his agitation. Beliefs in the paranormal only slowed his investigation, of course it couldn't be a ghost. Only people killed people. Ghosts were nothing but fear impersonated. Mycroft seemed to have endless patience, however, and listened intently to everything Macy said. George remained quiet for most of it, save the occasional agreement to Macy's words. This in itself was suspicious, as everything seemed to be in this case.

Lestrade and Mycroft strategically booked two separate rooms, near the stairwell of both floors. This would allow them to better catch any movement in the night, as well as giving them a quicker escape route if needed. The rooms were decorated much like the rest of the hotel, rustic intertwined with natural elements. The beds were large and comfortable. A quick look-through showed no hidden drugs or hidden weaponry. They scanned all of the other rooms as well, thirteen in total. Nothing stood out of the ordinary. Even Macy and George's room appeared pristine, which was not odd as the detectives had been expected. The entire hotel was open to only them until the mystery was solved and it seemed only time would tell what was really going on in this castle.

Night fell quickly, and the Claxon's served a modest meal of shepard's pie and carrot cake. Mycroft and Lestrade sat far from the other two as they ate. "Thoughts?" Lestrade imitated back at his new partner.

Mycroft murmured quietly back to him in response, "This case certainly has quite a bit of potential." Lestrade almost smiled at the use of his own words. It was true, anything was still possible at this point. It wouldn't help to make guesses, either. Only gathering more evidence would be effective in making progress.

"I meant on the food." Lestrade joked. Mycroft gave him a side smile, which was more emotion than he had ever seen from the man. Mycroft's eyes almost glimmered in the candle light that had been provided with their meal.

A cold chill suddenly ran over Lestrade's arms before a loud bang rang through the hall. He couldn't help but think of the so-called ghost before realizing someone had only just entered the hotel. Lestrade shook his head to himself in shame, hand cautiously close to the hidden weapon at his waist. Miguel entered the room once more, which made sense as he would be the only other one with a key. Miguel was different, though, smiling and practically skipping into the room. It was a large difference compared to his earlier attitude and stiffness. This change was most likely due to the baby on his hips, though. Lestrade calmed and resumed eating.

Mycroft stood to greet the child, who must have only been a year old. A baby girl with curly blonde hair and large green eyes. "Who is this?" He asked as he cooed. Lestrade tried not to laugh - he never took Mycroft for the father type.

"This is my daughter, Chloe," Miguel almost sang. The baby turned to him in response, looking at her father with adoration. It was adorable to watch the two, but Lestrade immediately doubted his decision to bring her to a place where a man had been killed only a few days prior. Apparently Macy had the same idea, and vocalized it with obvious distaste in her voice. Miguel seemed to hold his temper effortlessly when the baby was around, and happily replied that his daughter was safe with him. "Her mom is off-duty right now and needed me to take her tonight. I usually only get weekends." Miguel explained. He began preparing a bottle.

"Let me guess, partying again? She shouldn't have had a child if she wasn't ready to give up her life for it."

"Her," Miguel corrected with a smile. "And we don't need to think about that do we? No, because you're with Daddy now and that's all that matters." He finished the bottle and the two departed to their room upstairs.

"Why doesn't he take full custody, then, if the mother isn't up to the task?" Lestrade asked George out of curiosity as Mycroft sat back down in front of him.

"Doesn't believe in himself, to be honest. But he says he doesn't want to take a child from her mother. He experienced the loss himself a few years ago." George seemed a bit emotionless at the mention of his previous wife.

Lestrade decided to keep pressing. "What happened to her, Patricia?" He recalled the name from previously studied files. Macy's face turned sour at the name as she finished her dessert.

"Car accident." George responded. "We assume it was suicide, ran straight into a tree off the road."

"Why suicide? Was she depressed?"

"Her sister thinks so, but nobody can really know what goes on in a person's mind. Best not to think about it." George said dismissively, signaling an end to the conversation.

Mycroft went for seconds and everyone began heading to bed. Once the room was clear Lestrade set two walkies on the table. "What's this?" Mycroft asked with humor in his voice.

"Just in case the power or reception goes out. You can never be too prepared. I have them set to the same frequency already." Mycroft looked at him in a way that almost seemed impressed.

"Ready for this?" Mycroft asked. "Might be too scary for you. I noticed you jumped a bit in fright earlier."

"I've seen all the scary movies, I'm prepared, don't worry." The only way to get past embarrassment was to laugh at it. "I've got salt and a cross in the car just in case." That got a small laugh out of Mycroft, which caused Lestrade to smile. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all, working with him.

"Let's begin night one, then. We'll convene here at three a.m. to discuss findings. And Greg - no drinking on the job, you need your wits about you on this one." With that final note Mycroft left with a dramatic spin of the umbrella.

Lestrade rolled his eyes, insulted, before realizing he had shivered when Mycroft had said his first name. _Bizarre_.


End file.
